


Come on trust in me/Come on lust with me

by quetzalzotz



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Fred deserves this lets be real, Fred has some PTSD babey, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quetzalzotz/pseuds/quetzalzotz
Summary: A man like Fred Waterford would do anything for power. Winslow knows this and uses it to his advantage.
Relationships: Commander Fred Waterford/Commander George Winslow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	1. Sin Sex Sodomy

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue is lifted from episode 6 of seasons 3 of The Handmaid's Tale. I was inspired a little bit by a tumblr post. Titles are from Bullets Bombs and Bigotry by KMFDM

It was subtle at first. A glance, a half grin, a little nudge from a foot under the table. High Commander Winslow managed this with such ease, such fluidity of movements.

Fred couldn't have been his first. There was something too comfortable, too secure, in how he carried himself. How many others has he taken behind the polished wood of this private office. How many has he enticed with a so-called friendly game of snooker?

Fred clutched the crystal glass tighter than he should have, nervous for a feeling he couldn't quite name. The whiskey did little to put him at ease. The cue slid through George's hand as he stepped beside the couch Fred leaned on. He was close, too close. 

"You know, I underestimated you, though, Waterford. I'd heard about your recent...difficulties, and...Well, I made assumptions." Fred couldn't help but look at the way he held, no, fondled the pool cue. 

He took a step back when he stood to raise his glass in the toast the High Commander offered. "Here's to your bright future, perhaps here in D.C."

"A posting in D.C would be an honour Sir."

"George, please." he set his now drained glass on the side of the table, while Fred clutched his to his chest. Strangely, he was reminded of the first time he invited June to his office, how she sipped it with apprehension. 

While they were of similar height, George was broader, thicker. There wasn't really any doubt in his mind that Fred would lose in a fight. Though it didn't matter.

When the High Commander placed the back of his hand on Fred's cheek he froze anyway. The other man was a gender traitor. 

Maybe. 

The touch was brief and soon George leaned down to make a shot. Even though the hand was gone Fred felt it burn. Unconsciously he rubbed his cheek trying to make the sensation go away. Surely it was nothing. A friendly greeting between friends and comrades. 

When it was Fred's turn, however, there could be no doubt in his mind.

Winslow gripped his shoulder, nailing digging through the soft shirt. Fred felt the cue slip between his fingers and scuff the table with a light dusting of blue chalk.

"You're off your game," Winslow said in a low purr. It was menacing, and the whiskey in Fred's stomach turned to ice. The High Commander rearranged himself so now he was behind the other man, leaning over Fred. He could feel the weight of him on his back. His knees shook and Winslow took the moment of weakness to kick his legs apart.

"What would you do," he whispered, biting Fred's earlobe, "for a position in D.C? We all know your wife is the brains of the operation so perhaps special dispensation could be made, if you're a good little bitch."

Fred couldn't speak, he couldn't move. This couldn't be happening to him. Surely this was a nightmare, a fever dream from missing his daughter.

It felt real enough when he heard the clinking of belt buckles and the sharp edge of one of Winslow's nails scraped the sensitive skin on Fred's back when he shoved down his slacks just enough.

"My my, pretty as a peach," he leered.

Fred could hear the squelch of something over the pounding of his heart but even that turned to static when Winslow's thick fingers forced themselves into his tight hole. They were wet with what he could only assume was saliva, but it was far from enough. He had clasped his other hand over Fred's mouth so the whimpers and screams died on the vine.

The burn was unlike anything he had experienced. It wasn't just the pain. The violation was brutal, rough and probing and the betrayal of his cock hardening made him feel sick to his stomach. He felt himself choke on acid as Winslow scissored his fingers and stretched him more.

"How long has it been since you've come," Winslow asked, judgemental and harsh. "Probably since your useless cock fucked your handmaid. My girls wouldn't dare fuck my driver."

Fred said nothing as the High Commander pushed his fingers in deeper, now grazing at his prostate. Fred's cock twitched and throbbed and he fought back tears, angry at his body.

"But then again, my cock works," he pressed himself against the back of Fred's thigh and ground his own hard cock against it. "All my children are mine."

A few tears fell from Fred's eyes, which only spurred on Winslow.

"My wife still fucks me too," he said with a twist of his finger. Fred's cock was leaking as much as his eyes were now. "She still wants this. Serena Joy can do so much better than this pathetic thing before me." He released Fred's mouth but pulled his hair, so Winslow could look him in the eyes. "couldn't she?"

"Yes," he croaked out. "She could do better."

Winslow said nothing but smirked and pumped his fingers quicker.

Fred was openly crying now, only made worse by the fact he could feel himself coming, some landing on the floor but some landing in his underwear.

"Pathetic, you'd do anything for power wouldn't you?" Winslow sneered. If he orgasmed too, Fred couldn't tell. All he felt was the same thick, harsh hands forcing his pants back up as if nothing had happened, and left him bent over the table, knees weak with the come drying against his skin, a drop on his shoe.

Winslow, however, picked up his cue and lined up a shot. Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

"Daddy?" a little girls voice called. Fred didn't feel strong enough to look up.

"Yes love?"

"Would you and Mr. Waterford have a tea party with me?"

Winslow smiled. It seemed warm to Polly, but it was dark and menacing to Fred. "I can think of nothing I'd rather do." He hung the cues up as Fred found his legs again, standing straight. "Fred, you'll never taste a better cup of tea."

"Well in that case," his voice cracked and didn't sound like his own. His ears still felt flooded by the sound of his heart, "I happily accept your kind invitation."

Not that it was a choice, after all.


	2. Bend right over and beg for more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred thinks he's doing the right thing down on his knees.

"Canada's willing to discuss a general extradition treaty," George leaned back into a club chair, legs crossed.

"That's excellent news," Fred replied mechanically. He hadn't slept since the incident in the office. He barely kept food down, and didn't feel hungry either. The Martha had noticed but said nothing. She simply smiled with sympathy. A father losing his child, no doubt, would cause stress like this.

Sitting in the same room as the High Commander made his skin crawl. Winslow acted as though things were normal between them. Things were good.

Nothing made him feel clean, or sane. Nothing made sense anymore.

"Don't you think so?" the question snapped Fred back to reality.

"I'm sorry?" Fred asked.

The cold grin crossed Winslow's face again. "A father would do anything to get his child back."

"Oh," _you know she's not my child_ Fred thought bitterly. "Yes, of course."

The High Commander stood and motioned for Fred as well. "Pray with me," he demanded. It was the same voice from the office.

He wanted to run. The door was there, wide open no less. He could leave.

"Imagine, Fred, a perfect family here in DC," George pushed Fred to his knees. "Power, control, you could do great things for our country, if you know how to pray." It was clear he didn't mean prayer in the traditional sense. Winslow wanted something else and based on how he held down Fred at the shoulder, he could guess what it was the other man wanted.

"Show me your devotion. Show me how you want your daughter to come home."

His hands were shaking as he opened the other man's pants, carefully extracting the hardening cock. It felt so foreign in his hand, different to his own. Winslow chuckled cooly and wrapped his hand around Fred's, stroking himself to full hardness now.

It seemed monstrous. Huge and red and glistening at the tip. And Serena had liked this? Liked taking his cock into her mouth and sucking until he begged and moaned. He shut his eyes and tried to remember what she had done.

He gagged, of course, taking too much in at once. Winslow tasted musty and like clean sweat but it might have been rat poison to Fred. He fought down the gag reflex, working his tongue along the underside of Winslow's cock. The growl from above spurred him on.

The hands now in Fred's hair seemed softer than before. Winslow gripped, but never pulled. He fell into a regular rhythm, able to take a little more with each pass. It was easier if he thought of it like a popsicle from his youth.

"That's it," Winslow purred from above. "You'll be good posted here won't you? Maybe the little colonial across the street hmm? Then I could have this mouth any time I wanted."

Fred tuned it out as best he could. He didn't want the promotion. He wanted to run as far away as he could. Fighting rebels in Chicago, even, over this.

This wasn't a popsicle, and it wasn't cool, sweet juice flowing down his throat when Winslow released into Fred's mouth without so much as a warning. He felt the bile rise in his throat and fell forward onto his hands, retching. Winslow knelt down to rub a circle in Fred's back. It was almost tender. It was almost kind.

"You did so good for me, Fred," the praise was lavished on. "It's okay, cough it up, it's alright." When the heaving stopped and Fred sat back up on his knees, Winslow handed him a handkerchief and stood to get a glass of water.

But Fred just sat there, spittle and cum drying on his face. He crumpled the kerchief in his hands, seething with self loathing.

"Drink it all," George said softly. This was the same tone he used with family. "You can't be dehydrated for the banquet tonight. You should get cleaned up before Serena Joy suspects something."

_Fuck_ , Fred thought to himself.


	3. I must receive and I'll believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The banquet is a nice distraction briefly.

Serena Joy hadn't looked this beautiful since their wedding day. Fred could barely take his eyes off her, as she manoeuvred so gracefully among the other wives, flirting harmlessly with their Commanders, giving warm smiles and airy giggles.

He loved her.

And yet he felt the twist in his gut. If she knew, if she ever found out what Winslow and he were doing, she would have him killed. Winslow had been right: she had all the power. It had only started to bother him though. 

Gilead didn't save their marriage like they had wanted. Having a baby through The Ceremony wasn't the balm it was promised to be. He built this for her and yet they both suffered. He hadn't expected it to get this extreme, this far, especially knowing the things he did... 

He tried to push those thoughts away with a shake of his head and enjoy the party. There was food he hadn't had in ages; avocado salad with crab, creamy Gruyère cheese, devilled eggs with real paprika. For the first time in days, Fred ate.

The jovial air seemed to do him good. He felt normal for the first time in days. Even with the tinge of sadness for Baby Nichole, the party seemed to be more focused on relaxing the rules of Gilead just a little bit, just for one night. He danced with her Serena, he kissed her, he held her.

"High Commander Winslow," Serena smiled. "You have done so much for us, we don't know how to thank you."

George patted her arm, "you just worry about getting your daughter home. Your husband has thanked me plenty." There was a knowing, blink-and-you-miss-it, glance shared between Fred and George. The sour feeling rose again in his gut, churning.

He had to run, to get out of there. His dinner threatened to appear on the dance floor. With a quick smile he excused himself to flee to the bathroom.

Fred was shaking, tears flowing from his eyes as he collapsed gracelessly to the floor. He only just managed to get the toilet lid open before the contents of his stomach came back up. It stung his throat and nose as he heaved.

But he barely felt it through the shaking of his body, only steadied by resting it on the toilet. He knew that if he stood he'd collapse again.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. But the memory of Winslow's thick cock down his throat kept flashing in his mind. Every time it made him cough and retch even after nothing else could come up.

Gilead had failed him. He pressed his face on the cool porcelain and thought back to the time before. He was just a marketing consultant. He had worked with companies from Cambodia to Canada, large and small. He never forgot his first client and he still wondered if they continued to do trucking. The accounting girl had been so nice to him over email, even when Serena's pregnancy test came back negative again. 

And now what? Now he was curled up on a bathroom floor, stomach twitching from the exertion of emptying itself for the second time today. This was his legacy: a gender traitor who sucked dick to get ahead. It was all his fault too. He could have left, revealed that Winslow was a gender traitor, but he didn't. He did this. It was his fault. All his fault. 

All he had ever wanted was to make Serena Joy happy. To realize that he could give her all the things she wanted. And he knew, he knew he couldn't give it to her so he found a group who took her book seriously, and took it a step too far.

Slowly he stood again, shaking but upright. Examining himself in the mirror he saw how pale he looked, with the deep bags under his eyes. He hadn't looked this bad since he had been sick years ago with the worst flu of his life.

Cool water revived him a little bit, though he still felt weak from the exertion. He suspected he could hobble his way through the rest of the party, though it would be hard if the Winslow's didn't leave him alone. Even with an empty stomach, it churned at the thought of being in that house any longer.

But he could do it. He had to be strong. For Serena.


End file.
